Leaving
by Sylvia Snape
Summary: Hermione is going home from Hogwarts. She thinks about the Department of Mysteries and how Harry must feel. One shot on how Hermione interprets Harry's feelings.


**Spoliers:** OotP  
  
**Disclaimer: **The characters and the Harry Potter enterprise belongs to JK Rowling and all of her affiliates. No trademark infringement is intended. The poem at the end of this story was written entirely by me and therefore belongs to me.  
  
**Author's Notes:** One night I was going home and felt sad. The houses and lights were flashing by. I thought how Harry must feel leaving Hogwarts. I eventually had a poem how he might feel but, Harry doesn't write poetry. That gave me the answer: Hermione; she would worry and write poetry. This is not intended as a Harry/Hermione pairing. Hermione is being a concerned friend (We know she worries from the Department of Mysteries). Enjoy!

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With a look back, Hermione handed her trunk to her dad. He pulled the trunk to the car with his wife and Hermione behind him. As they got in the car and drove away, Hermione was thinking about what had happened during the year.   
  
During any other circumstances, she would be thinking about the OWL's and worrying about what she had gotten but, these were not regular circumstances. There were more important things on Hermione's mind as she was driving away from King's Cross. Sure, she was worrying about the OWL's and what she had gotten but, it was in the corner of her mind. She was concentrating on the Department of Mysteries.  
  
During the train ride she had pushed it all out of her mind to not worry her friends and had read but, she could not avoid it any longer. What had happened at the Department of Mysteries was not the sort of thing that could be avoided. It would keep nagging at you until you had given it some serious thought and, Hermione was ready to give it some serious thought.  
  
What could Harry and Luna hear behind that veil that the rest of them could not? Maybe it had been that both of them had seen death but, they had nothing else in common. How did Sirius die? He had not just fallen into the veil. Had he gone to another dimension, if there is such a thing? What happened and just what is the veil? We may never know.  
  
What was the locked room? It obviously had some great power behind it that it could not be opened and it melted pure metal. It was closely guarded and kept from the wandering eye but, what was behind that door? What could be so powerful?  
  
Why was time so closely guarded? It is a very precious thing to tamper with but, how could you keep track of it so closely? Why? It cannot be for history purposes, there has to be a deeper meaning than that. The time turners had a logic behind them, you have to control who has such a great power and stop misuse of it but, the rest was just confusing. It didn't add up, what was so bad that you have to stop all possibility of it happening?  
  
Why where the prophecies stored so carefully and guarded so meticulously? Could they really reveal so much about the future that people shouldn't know? Could it really be all that serious? More importantly, what was the prophecy that Voldermort wanted so much? What did it reveal about Harry, his scar and Voldermort? Why had Voldermort wanted to kill Harry in the first place? What was so special about him? What did the prophecy say that gives a reason to stalk a practically harmless boy? Time will only tell.  
  
These thoughts led Hermione down a different track. It was not so far away from the Department of Mysteries and the two did tie together. It was a thought that she had avoided even longer than the Department of Mysteries. It was one that had been nagging at her since her first year, especially since the Sorcerer's Stone. It was Harry. He had particularly worried her for a while.   
  
How could be so sad and misfortunate and carry such a burden? He did not even have a place to escape to during the holidays. The place he went during the holidays was the place he wanted to escape from. He had barely any family left and they were hardly loving relatives. They mistreated him and gave him general hell but, he still stuck it out. Sometimes there was no wonder why he was a Griffindor.  
  
Hermione thought of how Harry might feel now; leaving Hogwarts to the place that he is forced to call home. As it got dark outside, Hermione watched the building roll by and the lights flash around her. The background gave her a good idea of how he might be feeling. By the end of her journey, Hermione had a good way to reflect what might be Harry's feelings.  
  
She drove up to her house and her dad dragged her trunk up to her room. Her mother was already in the kitchen preparing dinner. Hermione walked up to her room and sat at her desk. For once, she did not start unpacking so that she could start her homework the next day. She decided she could unpack tomorrow; she had all summer to do her homework but, this was now.  
  
She opened her drawer and took out a pad of paper and, she started writing. She wrote until she felt it was perfect. Yes, this described the feeling.  
  
_I leave the place I love,  
Until the time when I return to it again.  
  
The countryside is rolling by,  
I feel the emotions of the view.  
  
I'm walking among the people;  
They are unconcerned and blithe.  
  
The people are on the streets;  
They have emotions unlike mine.  
  
It is past dark by now.  
The houses and lights are passing by.  
  
I enter the house.  
Nothing has, of course, changed.  
  
As I fall back into my routine,  
I have one thought to cheer me.  
  
It can't be all that bad.  
There is one good thing._  
  
Soon her mother called her down to dinner. Hermione put aside her work and decided to leave it until later. She might get back to it and it may just stay ignored. She fought with herself about sending it to Harry but, decided against it. As she closed her door behind her and went downstairs, she put on a cheery face for her family. They did not need to know about anything that had happened.

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**Author's Notes:** I looked up from my typing and I realize an hour had gone by. The whole time had not been devoted to the story. The whole story could not have taken more than 45 minutes; the poem, perhaps 10. I have no more to say.  
  
Now that I stopped talking like that; what did you think? I admit I sort of forced a story from the scene described in the author's note above but, I think it worked. What did you think of the poem? Oh, and should I show it to my English teacher?   
  
Well, now that you listened to me rambling: go up a bit and press that little purple button below this and tell me what you thought. (My policy on reviewing: it's better to get a flame than nothing at all. You still don't want to? If you still don't want to review, then I encourage you to write a story. Then you'll understand how much reviews mean to writers and maybe you'll start reviewing other people's stories. Review!) 


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